


Theta

by SarunoHadaki



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-20 15:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarunoHadaki/pseuds/SarunoHadaki
Summary: Classmates Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland had known each other for years but when a science project brings them together, both learn more than simple biology—they learn chemistry. Includes an Arthur who learns to see himself as anything but the omega he was born as.





	1. The Assignment

Arthur Kirkland hated being an omega.

 It had all started when he’d first moved to the United States at the age of eight. It was weird to be living around so many noisy Americans, especially because of the difference in culture—they were a lot more conservative when it came to human rights. There was an imbalance of power regarding people’s nature, or dynamics, _or whatever the Hell they liked to call those things—_ being an alpha, omega, or beta, if being gay wasn't a challenge enough already.

 Arthur was now in his junior year of high school at East High ( _thank Jesus just one more year to go)._ He'd gone through enough as it was, with finally settling in enough to avoid all the old idiots who used to bully him for trying to be who he really was, an alpha, without people thinking he was trying to _make a statement_.

 And despite his parents’ doubts about going to public school, Arthur had persisted, saying that he would only be bullied more in a private school. He would never have the same experience as them, especially as an “omega.”

 That was because he bloody wasn't, in every facet but the physical sense, but Arthur knew if it weren't that the kids would have found other reasons to be dicks to him.

 He was still trying to keep true to himself without drawing any unnecessary attention, which is exactly what Arthur did as he entered first-period biology, dropping his backpack on the white tiled floor and whipping out his lab notebook to take notes at his station. As he searched for a sketch-free page, Mr. Karpusi passed out sheets of paper—obviously a new experiment for them to start working on.

 Arthur paused as he noticed the top of the page—a group project for the science fair? But there were only two lines for names at the top. So, a partner assignment?

 “What you have in front of you is a proposal for the science fair. You and your partner have three weeks to decide on what you’re going to do, create it, and present it at the fair. Your grade is on the line here, so consider that before you decide that you don’t want to participate,” Mr. Karpusi said.

 An echo of groans cascaded through the room after he spoke. Arthur had a brief moment where he realized he could make this purposeful, he could use it to educate and learn something! But then he remembered his partner, and the twats he went to school with every day.

 Nothing could sway the students from their inherent disgust at group projects, but Arthur knew they had nothing to complain about compared to whatever asinine partner he ended up with, especially if Arthur chose to research the subject he wanted.

 Mr. Karpusi was forgiving, allowing students to pair up with whoever they wanted. Students claimed their desired partners, with chairs screeching and voices filling the room, the loudest undoubtedly being the football trio in the back.

 The quarterback, Alfred, lounged against his desk and chatted with his friends until the teacher approached to split them up, Alfred wholly unhappy when his friends voted him off the island, so to speak.

 “Is there anyone who doesn’t have a partner?” Mr. Karpusi announced, and Arthur frowned as he raised his hand, seeing that Alfred was the only other one with his hand in the air.

 With a face twisted with disgust, Arthur begrudgingly inched closer to Alfred, who had already recovered from his friends’ rejection judging from that 1,000-watt smile on his face.

 Oh boy, three weeks with this tosser. Surely this would be a wonderful experience.

 Arthur had known Alfred for many years now. They had never talked much though, outside of class together. After all, Arthur kept to himself, except for the “rare” fight and shenanigans that his friends Francis and Gilbert pulled him into (and that was, of course, neglecting his punk faze).

 Alfred had always been the golden boy, with accolades for his sportsmanship and intelligence. While Alfred fooled other students with his easygoingness and inability to read the room, Arthur knew better.

 That’s because, despite Alfred's best attempts to be discreet about it, Arthur knew he paid attention to appearances—and people.

 Alfred was, more than anyone else, someone Arthur didn't want others to see him spending time with. Who knows what kind of target that would paint on his back, for kids to see Arthur hanging around this popular dolt? And if Arthur did the science project he wanted that could only make things worse.

 “So… any ideas for the fair?” Alfred asked as he settled into the stool next to Arthur, but Arthur was already drawing out a plan in his notebook.

 “I’m going to be doing an experiment about people’s natures and how that relates to behavior and personality,” Arthur stated.

 From his peripheral vision Arthur could see the frown on Alfred's lips.

 “But—” 

“No,” Arthur interjected, holding the pencil up to Alfred's face. “This discussion is over.”

If the next three weeks were going to suck Arthur might as well do something he wanted.

After another hour of arguing, the school bell rang. One would hope that Alfred would let it be, but he persisted.

“Because of you we didn’t even agree on an idea!” Alfred bitched.

 “This conversation is over. Now if you’ll let me go,” Arthur stated, but Alfred's large build blocked his way.

 “Hold up dude, hear me out. We’ve only got three weeks. We gotta figure this out today. Let’s meet up after school to talk about it, please?” Alfred implored, and Arthur raised his bushy eyebrows at him. He didn’t expect Alfred to be so incessant about it, or to care at all.

But that wouldn’t stop Arthur. He reached past Alfred for the door, casting one spiteful glare back as he said, “No.”

* * *

As Arthur was leaving English and heading to the cafeteria, he felt a hand close around his shoulder, and he spun around, glaring at the perpetrator.

Alfred was standing there, his hand still on Arthur's shoulder.

“What’s your bloody problem?” Arthur hissed, jerking his arm away as he hustled toward the cafeteria, Alfred on his heels.

 “My problem is that I’ve got the worst lab partner on the planet! Can’t you even hear me out for a second?”

“Will you leave me in peace if I do?” Arthur bargained.

 “Maybe. Probably not. But listen—” and he jumped in front of Arthur as they walked, saying, “I was listening to you in class today and I think there's really something there, it could be a really good project and I wanna help!”

Arthur gave Alfred a sideways squint.

“I've already got some ideas for studies we could do, and I've got all this stuff I learned…”

And Alfred kept talking, waving his hands around and spouting out all these theories about how a person became who they were because of societal constructs. Alfred chattered on about how that same thing could apply to a person’s nature, which was why alphas were always more dominant than omegas and betas.

Arthur stopped walking to stare at Alfred like he had just sprouted a third eye. Alfred stopped what he was saying to smile and ask, “So, what do you think?”

What did he think? For nearly a lifetime now Arthur had been asking himself if he were ever the only one who considered the possibility that it was unnatural for him to be forced to act a certain way simply because of his nature. He had always wondered, and in some ways hoped, that he could just be who he desired without having to worry that it was acting against something genetically inside him.

To think that Alfred was behind this now was, at the very least, baffling. He didn't seem the sort to find an interest in such matters, and he certainly seemed stubborn enough to want to continue fighting Arthur on his decision to research the subject.

Yet, despite Arthur's skepticism, he also knew Alfred to be easygoing. Maybe this was his way of trying to make a new friend (not that Arthur needed one!).

“It’s not the _worst_ idea,” Arthur stated, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited at the end of the lunch line.

Alfred lit up like a light bulb. “So that means that you'll let me help? When can we start working?”

That had to be a forced smile. No one was that excited about schoolwork. “I can clear up my schedule for tonight,” he stated.

“Oh damn, I forgot! I have football practice tonight! Could we do it after? You have book club anyway, right?”

 _Hm, what a valiant effort to pretend that he cared._ “No,” Arthur huffed. “That's tomorrow night,” he stated, lifting an eyebrow, “but we don't have enough time to blither. I'll be at school in the afternoon, so find me after practice and we can study at my place.”

That seemed to sate Alfred's whining because he nodded his head and said, “Okay, sounds like a plan to me!” and gave Arthur a pat on the back as he headed over to his usual table.


	2. The Study "Date"

The grass smelled crisp and fresh, even after a day of gym classes and athletes running across its green surface. It withered beneath Alfred's well-worn sneakers as he and the rest of the team stepped out onto the field for their weekly training regimen.

It was early May now, meaning offseason, but that didn’t stop coach Ludwig from beating the team’s asses and keeping them busy with their workouts. And, as everyone knows, April showers bring May flowers, but the field hadn’t yet recovered from the muddy weather and pollen was getting stuck in Alfred's nose as he did push-ups.

Today was going to be about speed, agility, and acceleration, and though it was more taxing to some than doing squats and bench presses Alfred liked moving around for once, reveling in the fresh air yet challenging atmosphere of having to leap, sprint, and run endurance for an hour.

Yet Alfred couldn’t hope more wholeheartedly for training to be over already when coach gave everyone a 10-minute break and Alfred looked out at the bleachers to see Arthur waiting there, with a book betwixt his fingers.

Arthur looked like he was putting a lot of effort into acting like he didn’t notice when Alfred waved at him and shouted a hello. Alfred just snickered when Arthur threw his chin up and lifted his book to cover his eyes. _You’re not fooling anyone, buddy!_

Training was exhausting, and Alfred was sweating buckets by the time they finished, hustling over to the bleachers to yell at Arthur, “Hey dude I’ll be back in ten, I just gotta change and then we can go, ya dig?” before running out.

He returned wearing jeans, a weathered T-shirt, and some damp hair after his brisk shower. Alfred slung his duffel bag of sports equipment and schoolwork over his shoulder as he approached Arthur, who waited primly on the edge of the football field with his book tucked safely under his arm and his backpack secured behind him.

It looked like the book he was reading was pretty thick. _Lord of the Rings_ , maybe? Or _War and Peace?_

“Hey,” Alfred greeted, but Alfred just huffed. “I’m driving you then, yeah? Where we headed?” he asked as he led Arthur in the direction of his cherry red pickup truck.

Arthur read the address aloud to Alfred and he typed it into his phone as they left the football field and entered the nearly-empty school parking lot, Alfred hopping into the driver’s seat of his truck.

“So, when’s the next game?” Arthur asked, maybe to break the ice, as Alfred turned the key in the ignition and his truck revved to life.

Alfred snorted, buckling in and checking Arthur before he started to back out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Not ‘till September dude, don’t you know anything about football?” he asked, but judging from the gross look Arthur gave him he didn’t.

“I know plenty about _real_ football,” he snapped, and Alfred rolled his eyes.

Light bickering ensued between them, with Alfred and Arthur defending and enthusing about their preferred sport, with Arthur eventually choosing to lecture Alfred about how it works, since Alfred only ever really thought about _his_ football.

Arthur wasn’t a completely awful dude, granted he was a British jerk who didn’t make sense all the time, and at least his voice was nice to listen to when it wasn’t screaming at him.

Finally, Alfred's pickup truck rumbled to a silence as he pulled up to Arthur's driveway, hopping out and hurrying around to open the door for Arthur with a smug grin on his face.

“So yes, that’s how you play _real_ football,” Arthur huffed, his face a little tinged pink as he stepped out.

As Arthur led Alfred to his front door, Alfred grabbed his backpack and followed, soaking in the scenery. Although he’d never really thought about it before, Alfred didn’t think that Arthur would have a house like this. It was a traditional two-story house, with a flourishing front lawn adorned with a flower bed of peach-colored roses and blushing peonies.

Alfred followed a stone walkway past the bushes and flowers to the front door, watching as Arthur adroitly unlocked the door and waved him inside.

Alfred glanced around and caught the smell of a vanilla candle and lavender as he walked through the living room, plopping down in the center of the couch. This was a lovely home, with everything neatly assigned to its place, from the couch cushions to the strategic arrangement of family photos trailing the walls and leading up the stairs. Alfred caught Arthur's face in pretty much all the pictures, with a bunch of other blond- and red-headed boys and one stern woman and man, presumably his mom and dad, crowding around him in the frames.

Pulling a white ottoman closer, Alfred dumped his backpack onto it and stretched his sneaker-clad feet onto it as he asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

Alfred jerked back when Arthur slapped the heavy textbook he’d been carrying earlier onto the maple coffee table in front of them. Alfred curiously peered over to look at the cover, _The Human Body and You_. “What’s this?”

“The foundation of our research,” Arthur stated ( _not without an insanely smug look on his face_ ), while Alfred reached over to inspect the pages. It was full of diagrams of bodies and pages upon pages about natures and hormones and all the stuff one would expect from a biology book used in sex ed classes.

“Why do you have this?” Alfred asked with an arch of his eyebrow as he flipped through the diagrams and whole pages of text that he _knew_ he wasn’t gonna be reading.

“I _bought_ it,” Arthur said with a slight roll of his eyes, sitting down to curl up on his edge of the sofa with a laptop (Alfred briefly smiled amusedly at the cover decorated in British band stickers and abstract references to Doctor Who and Sherlock Holmes).

Why would anyone ever have any interest in something like this? Alfred knew Arthur was weird, but not _this_ much.

Several minutes passed as Alfred skimmed over the textbook and Arthur _tak-takked_ away on his computer, both settling into their own rhythm of studying. Alfred could feel his eyelids becoming heavy, his shoulders slumping forward, and his hands barely flipping through the book.

Just as he felt his head pitch slightly forward there was an unmistakable _thwack_ against the back of his head. Reeling back, Alfred nursed the new wound on the side of his skull. “Why the _Hell_ did you do that?” Alfred whined, but Arthur just gingerly placed _another_ heavy—albeit paperback—textbook on the coffee table.

“We’re not going to get anything bloody finished if you drool on the books instead of reading them,” he scolded.

“Now I remember why I never hung out with you in school,” Alfred grumped as he rubbed his head again.

“What?” Arthur snapped, eyes widened with shock.

“You’re rude and mean and all you ever do is act all standoffish,” Alfred stated.

“I don’t have to take that from you just because you’re being lazy,” Arthur spouted.

Alfred opened his mouth to retort but then closed it again, puffing out his cheeks and shoving his face back into the book before Arthur could yell at him again. What was his problem?

How long had Alfred known Arthur anyway? Like, at least since fifth grade. Despite countless years of schooling together, Alfred wasn’t really around Arthur save for a few classes, since they were both in different clubs and hung out with _completely_ different people.  

Arthur was an okay guy despite that—Alfred _did_ wanna be friends with everyone, after all. But he remembered Arthur mostly for all the fights he got into when he was younger and because he was the only British dude out of most of their school. Arthur should’ve made a lot of friends just for being British (Americans liked that sort of stuff) but no, Arthur seemed very selective when it came to whose company he liked to keep.

Alfred knew Arthur wasn’t a recluse—Arthur was involved in book club, some student council, and Alfred had maybe caught him at a party or two also, though that was when Arthur was going through his “punk phase.”

Alfred had to hand it to him though, he pulled off mascara and platform boots better than even the prettiest ladies, and Arthur’s brain wasn’t anything to shirk at.

But there was something more than just the strange looks and standoffishness that had kept Alfred from talking to him, ‘cuz surely he would’ve bothered Arthur if he thought he could. What was it about Arthur that made him so… _weird_?

Shifting his place on the couch so that he could rest his hand on his cheek, Alfred stopped staring at the page in front of him to peer over at Arthur again. Arthur’s hands were typing a mile a minute and he looked way too occupied to notice Alfred's staring, so Alfred let his mind wander a little, examining Arthur's untidy hair, the emeralds of his eyes, the little holes where he used to stick all his earrings in his ears.

Arthur was wearing his usual sweater vest today, giving Alfred a little glimpse of what was surely a lithe figure underneath. After all, didn’t Arthur used to be in the boxing club or something, as a way of getting rid of all that excess energy he’d been using to beat the shit out of people?

Actually, did he have muscle at all? Or did he have a more delicate frame, a porcelain stomach with peach-colored shoulders and knees kissed by the sun with little freckles dusted across everything, _especially_ —

“What are you looking at?” Arthur hissed, and suddenly those emeralds in his eyes melted into orbs of hot poison. Alfred jerked his head away so quickly he was dizzy from the whiplash.

“Nothin,’” he bluffed, but he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he stared at a _very_ interesting chapter about the lung, trying to avoid Arthur's burning gaze.

“So alphas really _don’t_ think of anything other than sex,” he insisted, and Alfred finally looked back over at him, mouth agape.

“Wh-what!” He exclaimed, frowning. “That’s not what I was thinking!” He defended.

Crossing his arms, Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Then do tell.”

“Well,” Alfred hummed as he rubbed the back of his head, “I was just wondering why you chose this subject for the science fair, y’know? You never seemed to be all that interested in stuff like this and Mr. Karpusi would probably give you an A just for showing up to class.” _Which was totally true!_

Arthur crossed his arms. “I’m not going to say,” he grumped.

“Then what _can_ you tell me?” Alfred whined, flopping back against the couch.

“What do you want to know?” Arthur asked with a genuine tone of curiosity in his voice.

Alfred could have chosen to be tactful about his questions, but he decided to go straight to the point instead.

“What _nature_ are you? Usually I can kinda tell, y’know, from their scent or figure or something. But your personality makes it hard to tell,” Alfred observed. He’d always figured that Arthur was an omega, but no one ever talked about Arthur to him and the things that Alfred would usually use to indicate a person’s nature—their scent, their build—didn’t really apply to Arthur, who didn’t have a scent and who was very _not_ open about his personal life ( _which was understandable but really come on_ ).

Arthur leaned back against the couch, his eyes narrowing. “What does it matter what I am? Honestly, I’m more than my reproductive organs,” he said.

“Well, yeah…” Alfred felt his cheeks becoming rosy pink again as he thought of his shallow question.

With an assured _click,_ Arthur closed the lid of his laptop and moved to get up. “That’s enough for today. I already have some good data going,” he said with a tone of finality lining his words.

Alfred excitedly moved to tuck his notebook back into his backpack, Arthur turning back as he stood to point to the book. “Take that book with you,” he noted, “consider it some extra credit assigned by me,” he joked, though the look he cast Alfred told him he was serious.

Shrugging his shoulders, Alfred begrudgingly shoved that in, too, before he stood and stretched. “Alright, so we’ll do this again tomorrow, yeah?” He inquired, looking over to Arthur, who was waiting to escort ( _or more kick_ ) Alfred out of his house.

“I suppose,” he said with a lofty sigh, then guided him to the front door.

Alfred opened the door, gazing out in shock at the evening glow as twilight dimmed into nighttime. Wow, it was night already?

“Alrighty, well, have a good night!” Alfred cheered, and Arthur rolled his eyes as his hand moved to rest on the frame of the door.

“Quite,” he said, then the door was closed and it was just Alfred and the little, solar-powered yard lights staked into the ground.

* * *

 _California Girls_ hummed in the background as Alfred returned to his room after his shower, drawing the towel to rest across his shoulders as he shuffled through the stack of books on his desk. Really, he wished he could have a house like Arthur's.

It’d been a long night, between football training and studying to dinner and unwinding after a long day, and what could be better than some late-night comic reading? Alfred found what he was looking for, _Captain America,_ squeezed snugly between _One Flew Over a Cuckoo’s Nest_ and his old trigonometry textbook.

Alfred held his hand against the top stack to stave off the incoming avalanche as he yanked at the comic, and while it went smoothly for the most part a sudden notification from Alfred’s phone made him yank too hard, and the top half of the stack tumbled down. Huffing, Alfred knelt to clean the books up when he paused to look at the splayed open pages of Arthur's textbook, tilting his head at the notes marked on the margin of the page written in neat, British English with a pencil.

The page was titled, “The HGPT Community” and the text read, “Most of the population is bisexual, but there are exceptions to this rule… Not everyone abides by the typical dynamics and mating configuration.”

Alfred saw the neat images of charts associated with different mating pairs that would produce offspring, marked by the usual omega, beta, and alpha symbols. Below that were paragraphs outlining four other letters, H for eta, G for gamma, P for phi, and T for theta, with Arthur's light marks underlining the theta symbol.

“Thetas are subdivided into transgender and trans-dynamics. Thetas are individuals who identify as a different gender or nature than they were assigned to at birth, such as an omega identifying as an alpha. It is easier to be transgender than trans-dynamics, as the number of hormones and other changes are more complicated and tiered.”

Alfred sat back and reeled away in shock as the words settled into his mind. Well, that was a bummer, though it explained why Arthur avoided Alfred's question earlier that day about being an omega. Even so, Alfred couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold at the prospect of Arthur being all burly and boorish like a lot of other alphas he knew.

But then, on the _other_ side of the coin, that meant Arthur _did_ have muscle, or at least _wanted_ to, and he was confident and self-assured, and…

The window slid open as Alfred pushed it, sticking his head out to catch a breath of fresh air. His cheeks felt hot and his head cold as a zephyr blew through and Alfred leaned forward, resting his forearms on the sill and sighing.

What the Hell. Alfred sighed, slumping his head as the Beach Boys continued their little tune. _I wish they all could be California— I wish they all could be California— I wish they all could be California giiiiirls…_

Thoughts ran through his mind about Arthur and his aggressiveness and how maybe he was trying a bit too hard? Or maybe he was just naturally mean, which made _sense_ because he was an _alpha_ …

But wait, was that why he was always getting into fights with people? To try and prove a point? Or was he being bullied? But surely Alfred woulda found out if it were _that!_

“Alfred, close your window,” Alfred heard from behind his back, where his mom stood in the threshold of his room in her bunny slippers and sleeping mask.

With a groan Alfred closed the window, turned off the radio, and crawled defeatedly into his bed. Maybe all he needed was a long night of rest was to set his mind straight—or maybe the opposite. Because, if there was anything Alfred knew for sure, the Beach Boys couldn’t be more wrong about loving _California girls._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you were curious about the meaning of the other greek letters mentioned (eta, gamma, and phi) I have a resource I used for this, you can look at it here (https://bit.ly/2O6HROt), but unfortunately I didn’t want to bore y’all with a long series of explanations~


	3. The Tattoo

The morning dew glistened on the roses outside as Arthur yawned, shutting the door behind him and trotting down the paved path to the sidewalk. He left at 6:45 sharp hoping to make it on time to class, but the usual morning rush of students walking to class had already passed, a clear sign that Arthur would probably be late.

That was no surprise because his other brothers had already set out together and he was, as usual, the last out of the door.

On his walk, Arthur caught sight of Alfred's red pickup truck, the same one he had been riding in yesterday. He saw as the eagle-clad license plate whizzed past him then, upon its driver realizing who he'd passed, the truck curved back around and drove toward Arthur. Arthur felt his stomach drop and he was half tempted to hide in the nearest bush before Alfred could offer a ride, but it was too late.

The truck pulled up with a  _screech,_ the driver's window rolling down and Alfred's cheery face appearing, dimples and all. "Hey dude, wanna ride?" He asked, and Arthur heaved a defeated sigh as he hopped into the back of the pickup truck, avoiding the front altogether because of, well, the  _scent_.

He could swear he heard Alfred hesitate to say something, but then they were driving again, with Arthur encouraging him with a well-placed, "we're going to be late, go faster twat," to keep him focused.

Thank god for Arthur's quick thinking! He was so close to sitting next to Alfred in that truck—Alfred, who smelled so—ugh, Arthur felt his stomach doing giddy flips just thinking about it. Alfred had a very  _distinctive_  scent that became more poignant in enclosed spaces that had little breathing room, or, say, after exercising. And Arthur didn't want to make the mistake of learning that lesson twice if Alfred had gone running before school that morning.

As they pulled up into the parking lot Arthur hopped out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Alfred hustled to join him, haphazardly jumping out of the driver's seat and following after him.

"So Arthur, I—" Alfred began, but the school bell cut him off with its sharp ring, and Arthur sped up, shifting his backpack on his shoulders and pushing the front gate open as he led Alfred to biology.

Mr. Karpusi barely batted an eye at them as they sunk into their chairs, but Arthur was quick to pull out his notes and make up for the time he'd missed, not giving Alfred a second glance.

After class Arthur was heading to history when Alfred caught him in the hallway, though only briefly enough to wave at him before his friends whisked him away.

If Arthur knew any better he'd think Alfred was granting him more devotion than was warranted for a boy whose attention was sought by over half the school. Quite honestly Arthur wasn't surprised—Alfred seemed the sort to want the attention of the  _one_  person who wouldn't grant it to him.

Too bad that, as they rejoined in English, the intercom sounded overhead. "Arthur Kirkland, please come to the front office," the voice announced, and Arthur gathered his things, more than ready for his monthly doctor's appointment.

Arthur granted Alfred one brief, smug grin over his shoulder as he left to join his mother at the front office, ignoring the expected "ooohs" from his peers at the assumption that he'd gotten in trouble (and, judging from his wrinkled forehead, Alfred felt the same).

Arthur knew he was going to the doctor's today but what he wasn't expecting Allistor to be the one to pick him up. Arthur stopped in his tracks as he entered the room, eying the red-haired dolt warily.

"Mother couldn't bother to take me this month, huh?" Arthur asked.

Allistor rose from his chair, gesturing Arthur outside. "Hell if I know. Come on, we've got an appointment to keep."

* * *

 Arthur! It's good to see you again! How are you?" Mr. Gilbavares greeted as Arthur entered the small examination room, taking his usual place on the cloth-laden mattress placed against the wall.

"Things could be better but they're not bad either," Arthur hummed, watching as the doctor set to work preparing needles and paperwork for Arthur.

Arthur had been going to Mr. Gilbavares for at least a decade now, though the monthly routine hadn't become normal for Arthur until a few years ago when his parents finally agreed to buy him heat and scent suppressants. They'd wanted to hold off until Arthur's first heat, just to make sure the medication wouldn't mess with him too much, but Mr. Gilbavares had encouraged them to do it now, narrowly avoiding what Arthur was certain would've been his first heat.

So yes, Mr. Gilbavares was a wonderful doctor. He went through all the normal questions, asking about any other medicine Arthur might have taken or anything that had happened in the past month. Then Arthur's doctor asked, "Have you been sexually active?" and Arthur had to wince.

"Oh?" Mr. Gilbavares asked, now with both eyebrows raised and an irritatingly amused smile on his lips.

"Not  _recently_ , no, but I know someone who—well, you know," Arthur shrugged his shoulders, though he felt his cheeks heat at the statement.

Mr. Gilbavares already had his needle raised and asked Arthur to hold out his arm. "You know the drill, I'm going to give you an extra shot just to stabilize your hormones so—" "I won't get mated," Arthur grumped with a roll of his eyes as his doctor nodded his head. "And if you  _are_  sexually active make sure to take Plan B."

Arthur sighed. "Why can't I get the implant again?" he asked as Mr. Gilbavares held Arthur's forearm in place to inject the clear liquid into the inside of his arm.

"They haven't produced an implant for male omegas yet," he said with a light sigh. He was probably just as annoyed as Arthur was at the prospect of having to get these shots every month, but Arthur would rather do that than make a mistake he couldn't reverse.

Mr. Gilbavares handed Arthur his medications and reminded him that the shot might leave him feeling weakened for a few hours, with Arthur sighing and nodding his head.

As the brothers shuffled back into Allistor's car, Arthur gave Allistor a death glare. "Why did you really pick me up today?" He asked.

The scot cracked a fiendish smile. "Alright, you got me. There's this new tattoo shop and I was thinkin' you might wanna check it out."

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. But then again, Allistor wouldn't be the irresponsible older brother if he didn't endorse shite like this every now and again. And that was what Allistor was around for, after all. To help Arthur make educated, bad decisions only to punish him for them later.

Throwing his hands up, Arthur scoffed. "Alright, why not."

* * *

 A bell near the door jingled as Arthur and Allistor stepped into the tattoo shop, Arthur immediately acknowledging the myriad sketches and paintings plastered on the wall. The room was dark with the black and white images, while various stools and tables sat stored along the wall for use. It didn't seem that busy right now, though the alternative music—Sober by FIDLAR—energized the room.

"Heeey!" greeted the tattoo artist as the bell rang, alerting him to their presence.

The man had tattoos everywhere, from his neck all the way down to his ankles, and he dressed in a black skull tee and black cargo shorts, showing off the large colored tattoo of a dragon below his knee. Arthur watched as the artist directed them to some chairs and he obediently sat down, while Allistor strolled around to stare at the drawings on the wall.

"The name's Dave. What can I do for you today?" the artist asked, and Allistor shrugged his shoulders. "Tell 'im what you want, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the statement but chose a tattoo, scoffing at Allistor's teasing as the music drifted away, replaced by the buzzing of the tattoo machine as the artist etched the shape onto Arthur's porcelain skin.

Still not understanding why Allistor would let him get a tattoo after years of Arthur enthusing about getting one, he arched his neck and stared at Allistor from across the room.

"You're such a freaky twat," Arthur grumped, and Allistor moved to lurk by the door, picking a cigarette from his pocket and sticking it in his mouth.

"I just felt like bien' nice for once. No harm in that," he mumbled, and Arthur rolled his eyes, sighing as he sunk back into his chair.

"Alright, almost done," Dave said, and the machine sputtered as he took the needle away to examine his work, then pressed back down, touching up a few bits as he saw fit.

"Okay, give it a glance over! Tell me how it looks!" Dave said, and Arthur rose from his chair as Dave handed him a small hand mirror to examine the tattoo.

Arthur smiled at the black capital "A" that now stood against his pale skin. The alpha tattoo was nestled between his collarbone and neck, right where a mating mark would typically rest. This was definitely an improvement.

"It looks… great," Arthur muttered as he handed the mirror back, still unable to completely hide the smile on his lips.

Allistor stepped around to look, pulling off a very convincing thinking expression as he examined it, rubbing his chin and squinting at the tattoo. "It's nice—it's not what _I_  would have chosen, but it makes a statement."

Allistor paid for the tattoo then led Arthur back outside to his car, an old Volkswagen Golf, plopping into the driver's seat and turning on the ignition as he lit a cigarette for himself.

"So, what's been up with you lately?" he asked, and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean? Nothing. Why do you care?" Arthur asked.

Allistor reclined in his chair, propping the car door open as he blew out a puff of smoke that wafted out into the empty parking lot. "Just curious."

A hiatus stretched between them, with Arthur staring at Allistor expectantly for a better explanation. It never came, however, as Allistor smoked his cigarette.

"What in the bloody Hell do you want?" Arthur pressed with a growl.

"Have you come out to your friends yet?"

Arthur's face became as hard as a stone.  _Oh,_ so his older brother was looking for material to tease him with. That made natural sense. "In fact I  _haven't,_  Allistor, but maybe you should take a moment to consider  _why_  before you decide to judge me for it! I—"

"It's not like that, Arthur, I just wanted to know," Allistor cut in cleanly, with a nonchalant air. Allistor extinguished his cigarette in his ashtray sitting on the dash of the car then turned to Arthur (was it  _necessary_  for him to look at Arthur like that when he talked?). "I know I've been an arsehole to you before," — _Try a lifetime,_ Arthur spat in his mind— "but this is really important. Soon enough you're going to be graduating and doing stuff on your own, and I want to make sure you're ready for that.

"You don't have to come out to anyone if you don't want to—I don't really know how safe it is for you to do that at school—but mum and dad agree with me when they say it'd be good to have some of your old confidence back."

Arthur didn't know what to do with himself at that moment, squirming in his seat listening to his old bully-turned-protector ( _what_ ) giving him a pep talk. It was beyond measures of bizarre that Arthur had never imagined seeing before.

"And make sure you do it on your terms. I'm sure there's tons of kids who gossip, and you can't keep it a secret forever when you got a  _bloody tattoo_  on your neck now," he teased, "but yeah. That's all I wanted ta tell ya."

"Mmhmm," Arthur hummed blankly, nodding his head. He dropped his shoulders, heaving an even sigh as he leaned back into his seat and Allistor started that car.

This was a hard pill to swallow. Arthur had never had to think about "coming out" before. His family had always accepted him as an alpha, and they'd raised him as one since he'd first told them he expressed more interest in that lifestyle. He didn't experience any backlash from Allistor or his other brothers when he made that decision, but school was a different subject.

He'd had a phase where he'd spent a lot of time trying to portray the "tough guy," hoping that his actions would speak more loudly than words, but as Allistor had said gossip would only elevate things and allow everyone to come to their own conclusions. So, Arthur learned the hard way how to stay away from the attention of his peers, and eventually the bullying subsided.

However, that didn't make the conversation any less discomforting, or stressful. Yes, he'd love to come out, but what would everyone think? What would they think of his science project, with its new meaning? What would they think of seeing Arthur spending time with Alfred on the project, Alfred, who was everything an alpha was and Arthur wasn't. Alfred, who, despite being rather fetching, was  _infuriatingly_  good at being himself, while Arthur just…  _wasn't._

"You good?" Allistor asked, and Arthur jerked his head back to him, pulling himself from his distractions.

" _Yes_ ," Arthur hissed, and with a roll of his eyes, Allistor drove him home.

* * *

 The next day Arthur felt worse than usual, despite knowing he was supposed to feel  _right_. He had everything he wanted—a tattoo, his security, his autonomy. Instead, he just felt fragile, looking at his reflection with its awry hair, bushy eyebrows, very sunken eyes, and the stark, black tattoo against his skin.

He'd dreaded going to school at all today, knowing that he'd let Allistor fool him into doing something  _so bloody stupid._  He really hadn't changed at all since he was younger, albeit the pep talk was a pleasant surprise.

Arthur's plain red tee and black jeans felt a little loose on his frame, but he supposed it was because he didn't usually wear them. After contemplating whether he wanted the tattoo covered or not, Arthur settled on re-bandaging it, covering it with gauze. It peeked out beneath Arthur's shirt a little, enough for Arthur to be satisfied that it wouldn't get him kicked out of school.

"Bonjour," Francis greeted as Arthur stepped outside, and Arthur nodded his head at his friend.

"Walking today, huh? What's the occasion?" Arthur teased.

"Well, since you were wondering, Alfred asked me a few things about you while you were gone yesterday," Francis hummed, and Arthur cast him one glance before he squinted his eyes.

"What… things?" he asked, and Francis's smile twisted with that devious twinge that Arthur hated so much.

"I never knew you were an  _alpha_ , this whole time I thought that you were, well, an omega," he said in that irritatingly teasing tone.

Arthur felt his blood run cold. What in bloody Hell. The only people who were supposed to know that were his family, and Alfred was  _definitely_ not that.  _Damn_  Allistor for being right!

"Really Arthur, I thought you had more trust in telling me these things!" Francis exclaimed.

"It's not a matter of how much I trust you, stupid frog! It's  _my_  personal business, not  _yours_. And I'm going to kill Alfred for telling you."

Francis frowned, scrunching his eyebrows together with worry. "So quick to violence!"

"Naturally!" Arthur flared, and as they entered school grounds Arthur kept his eyes peeled for the twat, enlisting Francis in the search.

"Don't be too rough on him, mon ami—he's only trying to help," Francis defended, and Arthur stopped to turn on his heel and jab his finger in Francis's face.

"You should have ignored him! He's an attention-seeking, boisterous, brazen idiot who probably only gossiped with you for the sake of it!"

"He's not like that Arthur, I'm disappointed to hear that you think so little of him."

"Hey guys, what are you talking about?"

Arthur turned at the sound of the American's voice, reaching to grab Alfred by his collar and push him against the nearest lockers, the metal shuttering beneath Alfred's weight.

Alfred's ice-coloured eyes were frozen over as Arthur held him in place, though he didn't move to push Arthur away. "How  _dare_  you tell  _anyone_  about my personal business! Who else did you tell, hm? Why?"

"Arthur… I'm so sorry… I tried to talk to you but then you left in the middle of class and—"

Alfred's eyebrows were knotted together and his lips were set in a frown as he spoke, and Arthur almost pitied him.

"You listen to me and you listen closely. If you pull a stunt like that again I can ensure that you're not going to get a passing grade on our project," he muttered, then let go of Alfred's collar. "So, who else did you tell?" he pressed.

Alfred crossed his arms. "I didn't tell anyone else. I asked Francis 'cuz I figured that he already knew. Seriously Arthur, you distrust me so much that you'd think I'd blab to everyone?"

Arthur felt a blush spread across his face. "No Alfred, I'm just very guarded about that part of myself," he muttered.

"I'm starting to think you're guarded about a lot more," Alfred snapped.

Arthur and Alfred exchanged a glare as Francis stepped between them. "Please, stop the bickering!" he complained, and the two shrugged each other off.

Class came and went, and by lunchtime the two were still very set in their ways.

"You two can't stay mad at each other forever," Francis mumbled as Arthur avoided Alfred, who was staring daggers into his back at lunchtime.

"Oh no, but I know the longer I keep him suffering the better his apology is going to be when he finally admits to being a pillock," Arthur said through his food, soaking up every little morsel of Francis's disgusted expression.

"You are such a sadist," Francis ejaculated, and Arthur whipped his head back around, cheeks red.

"That's not what this is," he hissed, even as Francis shook his head.

Arthur rose his head as Alfred approached, squeezing the fork around his fingers and "nudging" Francis with his foot from beneath the table.

Alfred looked a little guilty (or was he shy?), rubbing the back of his head as he approached.

"Um, hey," Alfred greeted, raising his hand for a quick wave before he shoved his hands into his pocket.

"What do you want?" Arthur snapped.

Alfred slid into an empty seat across from Arthur and cupped his hands on the table in front of him. "I'm real sorry for earlier today, I realize now what I did was messed up and I just wanted to make sure that you're okay."

_Okay?_  Arthur raised his eyebrows with curiosity, but just as quickly crossed his arms. "Yes, well, gossiping about someone without their consent is what one would usually call 'messed up.'"

"Aw come on man, I'm trying to apologize."

"And though I appreciate that, I can't accept your apology right now. Could we continue this subject another time? Preferably when there's  _not_  hundreds of students squeezed into one room together?" he asked, glancing pointedly to Francis.

"Can we meet tonight?" Alfred asked, and Arthur smiled sympathetically.

"I have a lot of homework to do, maybe tomorrow?" he suggested.

"No, that's okay! I can help you with your homework! Whaddaya say?"

Arthur frowned at the suggestion. He'd had a long few days this past week and he wasn't sure he wanted to extend his day any longer. But he could see the pleading on his face and, although the brit wouldn't admit it, he  _did_  need help with his homework.

"Alright," Arthur conceded with a sigh. "We can study tonight. If anything at least you'll have plenty to focus on with our science project."

"Thanks Arthur! I'll see you tonight," Alfred said, grinning.

As Alfred walked away, Francis sent Arthur another smug smile. "What was I saying? Oh yes,  _sadist_ ," he teased, while Arthur's cheeks flared and he slapped Francis on his shoulder.


	4. The Party

“Hello,” Alfred greeted Arthur with a big smile on his lips as they stood on Arthur's front doorstep, Arthur ushering Alfred in after the short introduction.

The house looked just as cozy as before, though now Arthur's brothers were in the kitchen chatting and Alfred felt his heart rate pick up at the thought of having them overhear their conversation. Had Arthur already talked to them about his nature?

“So Artie, I was wondering about this whole nature situation that you’ve got going on,” Alfred blurted out before they’d even settled into studying. He wanted Arthur to know what he was thinking right away before Arthur sidetracked him again.

Maybe it wasn’t the most tactful thing to do—Alfred knew that people could be really guarded or protective of their nature—but he tried his best to phrase the question appropriately and to give Arthur an opportunity to say he didn’t wanna talk about it if that was what he wanted. After all, Alfred wasn’t looking to agitate Arthur again with sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Upon first seeing that textbook spread out on his floor, Alfred had just assumed that Arthur was a theta-alpha or whatever it was because, well, it kinda made sense. Arthur was always tougher than he was nurturing and preferred to carry himself more like a sturdy wall than a fragile person (a stigma associated a lot with omegas).

Or maybe Alfred was just overanalyzing things. After all, he’d only _known_ known Arthur for a few days and maybe Arthur had just been marking the page for another assignment or something. He could be a completely normal omega ( _even if all the evidence from the other day was enough by itself to justify that he_ wasn’t _)._

It took Alfred a moment to tune back into reality and focus on the smirk that graced Arthur's lips. Arthur’d put his arms akimbo, shaking his head at Alfred like he’d stolen from the cookie jar. “You really couldn’t help asking right off the bat, hmm?” he asked. “You really are tactless. Though I have to give it to you for being straightforward,” he noted.

Alfred also noticed that all conversation going on in the other room had ceased and he quickly glanced over at the brothers. They were giving off a really strong scent that was telling him to leave them— _and their brother—_ alone.

“Actually, could we talk about this in private?” Alfred asked, and Arthur nodded his head.

“We can talk upstairs,” he said, giving the three siblings a pointed glare as he led Alfred up the stairs and to his room upstairs.

Arthur's room smelled earthy, mixed with touches of sharp citrus and herby scents, like a forest after rainfall. Posters and books decorated the room, with two hulking bookshelves lining the nearest wall. A desk sat in front of the window with Arthur's homework and a cup of pens settled on the side. His room was cleaner than Alfred expected (minus the half-closed door of his closet, which was obviously spilling a little with old laundry), with more storage resting underneath Arthur’s plaid-laden bed. Alfred settled himself into Arthur's little spinning desk chair as Arthur leaned against his raised bed, crossing his arms and looking at Alfred.

“Before we start talking about my nature could you explain to me how you found out?” Arthur asked.

“It was only a hunch; I’d seen the pages about thetas and the marks that you’d made to the page in the textbook that you lent to me,” Alfred explained.

Arthur's cheeks turned a little pink, but he nodded his head. “I didn’t expect anyone to find out.”

“Obviously.”

Arthur grimaced at that like he’d just smelt something gross and Alfred blushed. “Anyway, the full truth is that I’m a theta-alpha. It means that I wasn’t born as an alpha but identify as one. It’s kind of like being transgender, but for natures. I’ve also had my brothers ask before about how to address me… I like to be called an alpha. You don’t have to mention the theta part.”

Alfred leaned against the back of Arthur's office chair and swiveled a little back and forth. “So you’re coming out of the closet right now,” he said, and Arthur grimaced, though his face was becoming pinker.

“I suppose you could call it that,” he mumbled. “I thought you would be a good confidant to start with since I haven’t told anyone except few close relatives.”

“ _Really_?” Alfred asked, dubious. He didn’t think that Arthur had really trusted him all that much. Expecting one another to work on their science project on a regular basis had been a different kind of agreement, not like promising to keep someone’s identity a secret (or at least keeping it limited to a few people).

“Yes! What, is there something hard to understand about that?” Arthur snapped, his face red, and Alfred took a breath.

“No, that’s… it’s… thanks,” Alfred said with a light laugh. “Out of everyone at school who you could’ve told you chose me,” he said.

Arthur scoffed. “You didn’t give me much choice, seeing as how you blabbed to Francis about it already. Knowing him, half the school will hear about it by tomorrow and then word will spread and by next week everyone else will have caught on that I’m an unnatural phenomenon and—” Arthur dropped his arms in defeat. “Given the circumstances, you were a natural choice.”

Alfred shifted in his seat, trying to avoid the awkward tension that fell over his shoulders like a quilted blanket, only more hot and less comfortable. “So why didn’t you tell anyone before?” he asked.

What had been scoffing before was now a cynical laugh, bitter like his tea. “I _did._ You may not remember but there was a time when I was very much trying to say something, but other peers targeted me because of it and many more thought I was just confused or stupid.” He rolled his eyes, back slumping as he mumbled something under his breath. It sounded a lot like “as if I don’t know what natures are.”

“I’m really sorry that I didn’t realize before Artie,” Alfred said, but Arthur just waved the concern away.

“It wasn’t your problem to deal with,” he said. “it makes sense that you wouldn’t stop to consider it.”

“Soo… you said everyone else is gonna find out. What’s gonna happen next?” Alfred asked.

Arthur didn’t look very happy at that question, and Alfred was itching to say something about it being okay, but he was sure it wouldn’t be well-received by someone who seemed too stubborn for even a “thanks.”

“I’m going to carry on my life as usual. We still have coursework to do and deadlines to meet despite what drama circulates among the other students. Surely _you_ know that—” a pointed look, “—but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to, ahm, to…” Arthur's face was turning pink again, and this time Alfred stretched his knees and elbows to cup his face in his hand, smiling warmly. “See a little more of one another around the school. Only so we have more time to work on our science project together, considering we’ve already wasted enough time.”

Alfred's lips split into a grin. “Yeah, doesn’t sound too bad to me,” he mused, leaning back in the chair now. “Are you really sure this science project is what we should be doing now, though? People are going to get thoughts in their mind when they see us together, working on this,” he observed.

Arthur huffed. “That’s the _point!_ It’s all about debunking the stigmas and myths that have circled this topic for so long. There’s still so much that we haven’t covered with it and there’s so much research to be done—you brought your textbooks with you, right?”

And effortlessly, like LeBron James dunking a basketball, Arthur had switched into work mode, and any hopes of Alfred diving more into Arthur's nature were pushed aside.

Alfred sighed as he pulled the textbook out of his backpack and flipped to the behavioral chapter that they’d been looking at, Arthur shuffling over with a folding chair he’d pulled from his black hole of a closet.

“So we’ve already debunked that it’s not a genetic thing,” Arthur said, all the while rolling his eyes _like yeah we know that,_ “and I really don’t think it’s a chemical construction that changes a person’s behavior like that. Both females and males have testosterone and estrogen and progesterone serve to help with sexual characteristics. I highly doubt they contribute _that_ much to making all omegas act…” Arthur's sentence trailed off, Arthur biting the inside of his cheek.

Alfred sighed. “This would be a lot easier if there were any data to go by for this kind of stuff, but I couldn’t find anything!”

Arthur turned to him, his eyes bright with excitement. “There’s nothing stopping us from doing our own research experiment, maybe like a survey, to collect some data for this experiment.”

“I mean, it’s a good idea, but a survey might be pushing it—we’d need a lot of people to fill it out for the numbers to really matter.”

“You’re the quarterback. Everyone loves you. I have no doubt that we can get enough responses if you encourage people to complete it,” he said.

“ _Everyone?”_ Alfred teased, wiggling his eyebrows, and Arthur blushed as he shook his head in embarrassment.

“Let’s get going then,” Arthur goaded, and Alfred huffed.

“Okay… but can we do it later? I know you said we were supposed to meet tonight so I could help you out and everything but I’ve still got a lot of questions and I really wanna get to know you better.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. “Alfred, I have a maths test this Friday. Your questions might be able to wait but my homework’s not going to.”

Alfred frowned, sulking into Arthur's chair. “Okay, then I’ll just help you with your homework,” he said, even if he was a little dejected at least he could still spend some time with Arthur.

The evening went smoothly as Alfred guided Arthur through the few questions he had on his homework, though he didn’t need a lot of help _because, well, he was obviously super smart._

Alfred yawned as he reclined in his chair, taking a glance at his watch as Arthur scribbled on his paper. Nine already? Man, Alfred would have to go home soon.

“Artie, it’s getting kinda late. You should probably rest,” he suggested, and Arthur sighed as he dropped his pencil and leaned back in his chair.

“Alright,” he conceded, leaning back to prop his feet on his desk, pushing his chair back. Arthur's hands rested against his head then slid over his eyes as he yawned. When his hands pulled away, Alfred grinned at the ruffled hair he left in his wake.

“You look really tired,” Alfred observed. “Are you doing okay?” he asked.

Arthur nodded his head. “Yes, though sometimes I’m a tad weaker than usual. I’d take that over having a heat any day.” Arthur flashed a small smile. “Alright, well I think that’s enough for tonight. Did you want me to walk you out?” he asked.

Alfred had to go home eventually, unfortunately. “Okay,” he caved, rising from his comfortable seat as Arthur ushered him out of his room and down the stairs.

“Can I just ask one more question?” Alfred asked as he hopped down the stairs and he heard Arthur's sigh trailing behind him.

“If you must.”

“So, um…” Alfred walked to the door then stopped short of opening it, turning around to Arthur. “I noticed your neck is all bandaged up—are you mated?”

Arthur's lips turned into that heart-dropping smile as he shook his head. “No lad, _sorry to say_ ,” he said with an exaggerated roll at the end.

“So you’re available,” Alfred cut in with a grin, and Arthur leaned forward to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I only agreed to one more question, twat,” he teased, though his face was a bright red that made Alfred feel a whole lot less bad about the red that flared in his own face.

“But Arthur,” Alfred whined, but Arthur was urging him out the door now. “I really wanna hang out with you more! Will you at least consider it?” Alfred asked, stepping out onto the porch as Arthur nudged him through.

Arthur raised his arm and rested it against the doorframe, smirking at Alfred as he answered. “I’ll think about it,” he hummed, then waved a goodbye to Alfred as he closed the door, and Alfred felt butterflies released into his stomach. 

* * *

 “I’m having a party at my place tonight, and you’re going.” Alfred scribbled on the margins of his worksheet as Gilbert whispered into his ear from the desk behind him. He glanced back to raise an eyebrow at Gilbert, who was giving him a huge grin.

“Text me the deets,” he whispered, then turned away.

* * *

 The floor vibrated with music drumming through the house, voices melting into the energetic melody. Alfred took another sip of the sizzling Coke in his hand and strolled over to Gilbert, clapping him on the back.

“Hey dude! This is an awesome party!” he cheered, and Gilbert turned to give him a fist punch. “Maybe not as awesome as me, but Hell yeah!” he cheered.

Gilbert took a quick glance around the room of people then leaned in close and whispered in Alfred’s ear, “Didja run into Arthur yet?”

Alfred felt his cheeks heat at the question, whether out of embarrassment or surprise, he wasn’t sure, but the smile that spread on his lips told him it couldn’t matter that much. Just the fact that he was here was enough to make him happy. “Where?” he asked.

Gilbert shrugged. “Hell if I know, I just know he’s around. Though from what _I’ve_ heard, you’ve got a thing for him,” he shoved Alfred roughly in the ribs and Alfred nudged him off with a goofy smile on his face.

“It’s not like that dude, I just like him,” he huffed, and Gilbert raised an eyebrow as he slipped by, blending back into the throng of people.

The scents and music flowed into Alfred's veins like blood, and he melted into the energy, allowing it to excite and invigorate him, making it easy for the smile on his face to stretch even wider at the thought of seeing Arthur.

He was fine with dancing to the colorful mix of pop music and other genres blended into a playlist with a lot of Drake and old 2000s artists. Alfred bumped into plenty of people as he danced, but into the third or fourth song he hit someone a little too hard with his forearm and heard the repercussions.

“Ah, bloody Hell,” the familiar, strongly-laced British accent cursed, and Alfred immediately backed smiled as he turned to greet Arthur.  

He felt his mind spontaneously combust at the sight of Arthur, all dressed up in the tightest, blackest pair of leather jeans he’d ever seen. Arthur's hair was more ruffled than usual and, seeing through a gap on the Sex Pistols t-shirt Arthur wore, Alfred saw the Greek letter for alpha stamped right where his neck met his right shoulder, a place usually reserved for mate markings. Arthur’d put a piercing into his left ear and though there was no nose ring or lip ring Alfred could easily imagine him attaching that to his look.

Suddenly, there was a lump in Alfred’s throat that he couldn’t dispel, and his lips remained gaping open as he stared at Arthur, who naturally looked a little peeved at the gaping.  

“You sure know how to talk to people, don’t you?” Arthur harassed, and Alfred tugged at the hem of his shirt hoping that it would dispel some of the heat rising to his face.

“I knew you were at this party and everything, but _holy damn_ I wasn’t expecting you to look—” Alfred cleared his throat. “You look cool. It’s cool.”

Arthur didn’t look convinced—instead, he looked a little amused but choosing not to mention that Alfred was practically melting into his shoes. “You look like you’re about to bloody combust into flames. Maybe you should douse the fire, hm?” he suggested, with only raised eyebrows to suggest that he’d been joking, while Alfred really did want to dunk himself into a pool.

“Have you had time to think about my question?” he asked, clearing his throat.

It was Arthur's time to blush now, though he was still smiling cooly. _Dick._ Arthur even rested his hands on his _(slender)_ hips as he responded. “Yes, I have. I _suppose_ dating you wouldn’t be the worst decision that I’ve ever made.”

Alfred huffed, though he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his lips. “Would you wanna hang out with me a bit tonight?” he asked.

Arthur looked to be considering his options, his face screwed up into a look of concentration at the thought of having Alfred in his immediate vicinity for the whole night. Then, Arthur shrugged his shoulders and said, “Just behave yourself.”

* * *

 Music was still jamming long into the night, and while Alfred loved the music itself he liked getting to talk over it as he carried conversations with Arthur, with the volume growing fainter as more people left the dance floor.

After going to school with Arthur for so many years it was surprising that they hadn’t gotten together to talk about their school experiences earlier, but Alfred supposed there had never been much of a reason to, what with him being the stereotypical high school jock and Arthur being... well, anything but that.

As the night dwindled on, more people went home, and the music faded along with the people until there was very little of both. A couple laying on the couch was making out—it looked to be a female alpha/male omega couple, judging by the way the girl was all over her mate, and while it was none of Alfred's business, there were better places for PDA like that.

Alfred headed outside to take a breather, sitting out in one of Gilbert’s old rickety plastic lawn chair and sipping the last of his third can of Coke. He felt kinda dizzy from all the music and lights and scents that had invaded his senses for the past few hours, leaving him more disoriented than he’d expected. He was probably drunk off people’s phenomes or something, if that was even possible. There had been a lot of people there, after all.

It didn’t help that Arthur was there because he was, well, _him_. It really _had_ been a little uncomfortable talking to him since he’d had to yell over the stereo and was the small conversation really worth nearly blowing out Arthur's eardrums? It didn’t look like he’d been all that interested in any of it anyway.

Speak of the devil, Arthur opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the lawn where Alfred lounged in his chair. Alfred felt a hand push against the back of the chair’s mesh as Arthur asked, “Are you doing okay?” and Alfred leaned against the touch, smiling a little goofily again as he looked back at Arthur and nodded his head.

 “Yeah, I just think I got a bit of a headache. There’s a lot goin’ on, y’know? Like, everyone’s scents and their hormones have been bothering me all night,” he confessed. “Do you... notice stuff like that?” He asked and turned around to look at Arthur, folding his knees against his body and gazing up at Arthur.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “A tad, it doesn’t bother me as much though.”

Alfred wanted to delve more into that line of questioning, to maybe ask him about how he’d felt around all those people, but Alfred closed his jaw just as quickly as he opened it, blushing lightly at his changed decision.

“Are you feeling well?” Arthur asked confusedly.

“Yeah, well, duh,” Alfred insisted, not wanting Arthur to worry about him. It wasn’t like he needed a mother to look after him, after all, but Arthur didn’t look convinced.

“My house is just down the street... it might be good for you to spend some time away from the party,” Arthur suggested, and _oh effing Hell yes please,_ Alfred nodded his head, rising from his chair and following alongside Arthur as they walked to his house.

“So you’ve been friends with Gilbert for years! It makes more sense considering he was your neighbor,” Alfred noted.

“Aye, we’ve been pals for over a decade,” Arthur said as they walked under the warm yellow pools of lamp post lights. Alfred mentally noted to ask Gilbert what Arthur liked the next time they talked.

From the driveway, Arthur raised his head to check that the lights upstairs were out. It was at least midnight by now so whoever _was_ home was probably asleep as the whole house looked like a black shadow.

Arthur walked up the familiar path and his house key clicked into the lock to the front door. He ushered Alfred in, turning on the lights as he trailed from the familiar living room to the kitchen, swiping a cup from the cabinet to fill with water.

Alfred took a seat on the couch and wrinkled his nose up as the vanilla scent returned to sober him up. Arthur returned from the kitchen and Alfred accepted the cup of water that was shoved into his face. Even if the crazy scents were gone Arthur's hot outfit did not and Arthur cackled at Alfred's fire hydrant face like he was a prepubescent boy in middle school.

“Could you... change out of that?” Alfred asked, and turned away, his face beet red as he took a sip of the water.

Arthur smirked and arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” he stated and left the room to go upstairs, casting one glance back into the living room as he closed the door to his bedroom.

Alfred took a moment to question whether Gilbert had slipped Viagra into his drink when he wasn’t looking or if he was just acting like a normal crush would to someone they liked. Only Arthur wasn’t a crush anymore, they were kinda sorta like an item, and it wasn’t like Alfred was all that embarrassed around Arthur before, even though the duo still _obviously_ knew that they had a thing for each other. Or at least Alfred knew. Arthur was a lot better at keeping Alfred guessing on that front, he guessed.

Arthur returned from upstairs with an oversized green sweater and a pair of navy sweatpants, relaxing into the seat next to Alfred as he sipped his wet beverage.

“Are you getting into a rut or something?” Arthur asked, and Alfred shook his head.

“No, they don’t feel like this,” he informed. “Do you, um, get...” Alfred made gestures and Arthur scoffed.

“No,” he said. “I take suppressants.”

Alfred nodded his head in understanding. “Is that all you do? to be a theta, I mean. There’s not like a… surgery or anything for it?” he asked.

Arthur blushed at the question and shifted in his seat, propping his elbow against the back of the couch and turning to look at Alfred. “You don’t _need_ a surgery to authenticate your transition, or at least _I_ don’t think you do, but I take heat and scent suppressants. I also take shots and there are contraceptives out there that help. I know there are surgeries to permanently prevent childbirth, but I don’t believe there are any associated with changing someone’s scent or permanently preventing someone from marking an omega-turned-alpha or beta.”

Alfred sighed. “So you don’t really have a scent,” he said, dejected.

Arthur smiled. “What, feel like you’ve missed out?” he teased. “You’re not missing much, Alfred. Sure, it might be more difficult for you to know what my needs are because you can’t rely on that but that’s just part of the baggage you carry.”

“I don’t really care about that part,” he admitted, picking up on the narrowing of Arthur's eyes. “What I mean is, ‘course other people care about that sort of stuff when looking for a mate but I just want someone who understands me, y’know? And I’m just sad that I missed out on getting to smell your scent.”

Arthur looked a little less offended now. “I still have one, you numpty, it’s just diluted,” he said, and Alfred snorted so hard he felt his ribcage strain against his muscles. Then he leaned back and laughed, while Arthur shoved against his shoulder to quiet him.

“My family’s sleeping upstairs, you git,” he whispered, and Alfred wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“You’ve got a scent? Can I smell it?” he asked, and Arthur hesitated, then held out his wrist. Gingerly bringing the porcelain skin to his nose, Alfred smelled sweetness, like chocolate. Arthur's skin felt cold to the touch, just as creamy and smooth as chocolate itself, and with each new sniff the aroma of the rich sophisticated substance melted through his mind and turned his brain to mush. He smelled a faint touch of that same citrusy flavor as before, but Alfred imagined it only made Arthur's scent more delectable.

Arthur pulled his wrist away and Alfred gazed up at Arthur through half-lidded eyes, leaning forward and reaching to close his hand around Arthur's wrist. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Alfred laughed lightly then leaned forward, and Alfred shuttered when their lips touched and Alfred coiled his arms around his frame, pulling him closer and nearly collapsing into the couch on impact. Everything about Arthur felt soft—his shirt, his lips, even his usually electric-green eyes looked gentle.

He could have kissed Arthur forever, feeling as Arthur's warm body rested between his arms and his nimble fingers came up to brush Alfred's hair away from his forehead. Through half-lidded eyes, Alfred peered at Arthur, whose eyes crinkled at the corners out of joy and his lips awkwardly mashed against Alfred's as he smiled.

“Ar— Ohhh,” Alfred sighed, diverting from words again as Arthur's hands snaked around his sturdy hips and he felt Arthur Frenching him so hard he felt like he was losing his mind. Arthur was pushing against him now, pressing until Alfred gave in and collapsed into the cushioning of the couch, humming encouragement as Arthur peppered his cherry-red cheeks with kisses.

“Oh wow,” Alfred gasped as Arthur sat up, straddling his hips. “You’re hot and you make me so hot,” he huffed, almost jealously, puffing out his cheeks at Arthur.

“Ask and you shall receive,” Arthur chimed, shuffling off Alfred and helping him sit back up when he stubbornly tried to get up by himself.

 “I think it’s kinda cool that you’re not an omega,” Alfred muttered, avoiding Arthur's puzzled tilt of his head as he turned to poking his fingers through the holes on his jeans.

“And why’s that?” Arthur asked, and Alfred looked back up to stick his tongue out at Arthur.  

“I dunno, it just is. It’s like, brave but also you’re more fun as yourself, not when you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“You’re a pretty good alpha yourself,” Arthur agreed and laughed when Alfred shot him the finger guns at him.

Alfred collapsed back against the couch, yawning and stretching his arms out. “I think I should head home,” he muttered, despite Arthur's frown.

“I can drive you; we’ll take my brother’s car,” he offered, and Alfred readily accepted.

Riding the whole way back home Alfred couldn’t suppress the grin that plastered his face, and as Arthur rolled up to Alfred's house and he gave Alfred a chaste goodnight kiss on the cheek, Alfred was sure that he still hadn’t returned from his volcanic meltdown that night.


	5. Date

“u wanna hang out this Sunday? ;-)”

Arthur sighed as he looked at the message that blinked onto his phone screen. It was complete with horrid spelling and an old-fashioned text emoticon tacked onto the end. Tempted to hold back from responding to the offer, Arthur decided to give himself some time before responding.

But, as soon as Arthur put his phone down on the edge of his desk to focus on work, it began to buzz again. Arthur glanced down. “i’ll treat you to food” the text offered, and Arthur arched an eyebrow.

Desk chair creaking as he leaned back in it, Arthur texted: “I presume you have an agenda prepared?”

“of course! it is a date, afterall, and i want you to enjoy it”

 _Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,_ Arthur thought. Alfred was being rather forward with the fact that this was a _date_. Arthur could appreciate the authenticity of Alfred's shite message.

“Okay, I’m in,” Arthur caved, feeling pleasantly surprised when his lips curled into a smile. “Send me the deets later. Working on our project right now.”

Alfred responded as quick as a lightning strike with a promise to finish his half of their work before yesterday too. He then told Arthur to be ready for their date early in the morning, with no more details for Arthur to hazard a guess as to what their meeting would be like the next day.

* * *

 

Sunday was rainier than Arthur expected. As he stretched after a long, restful sleep, he pulled his window’s white curtains apart and stood between them, gazing out at the dreary landscape with sleepy eyes.

Really, his first date with Alfred and it was going to be like an apocalypse outside? He could already hear the _pitter-patter_ of rain from outside the window, and although Arthur tolerated rain, he couldn't imagine that Alfred would be tactful enough to have a Plan B if their date was a (now ruined) outdoor activity.

Arthur turned back to his room, where his old posters were peeling off the walls from the rain’s humidity and his clothes laid scattered across the floor.

His stereo sat atop his dresser, and an old guitar that Arthur used to play hid, tucked away in a corner or his room, unplayed for days at a time.

The rest of the walls were occupied by his two large bookshelves, which sat mostly filled to the brims with books: textbooks, fiction, nonfiction, sci-fi, and even some romance novels Francis had lent him that Arthur had not yet (or never _would_ ) return.

His desk was nearest the door, with a neat stack of papers on one corner and a little host of office supplies bundled up in a drawer.

With a defeated sigh, Arthur went through the room, picking the dirty clothes up off the floor and dusting the shelves of books that lined the walls. He sealed his window, shut the curtains, and neatly made his bed.

He stripped out of his striped pyjamas and stole a second to stare into the mirror. His defeated figure, still tired from waking up, was made worse by the effects of his suppressants. His alpha tattoo stood out starkly against his papery skin, the black ink neatly lining Arthur's skin like calligraphy on thin parchment paper.

Arthur grabbed the roll of ACE bandage from the edge of his desk and stuck his tongue out as he deftly bandaged the tattoo back up to prevent it from scraping against the fabric of the day’s top, a woolen turtleneck sweater topped with a peacoat that kept the cold at bay.

His closet was full of an array of clothing, from the three-piece suit he wore to his parent's special anniversary to the skin-tight jeans he’d worn to Gilbert's party. Arthur prided himself on having a variety of clothing in his closet, even if most of it ended up being sweater vests and dress shirts. Arthur pulled some black jeans from the closet and put them on.

After checking his phone for any missed messages, Arthur headed downstairs for breakfast, where Patrick and Dylan were arguing over the last portion of Lucky Charms cereal. Really, why did they like that cereal so much? Leprechauns were stupid.

“Good morning lover boy,” Dylan teased, observing Arthur's quaint getup compared to the usually pajama-clad brother they saw in the morning.

Arthur rolled his eyes. How did news move so quickly through this house? “Buzz off,” Arthur grumped, and pulled out some cheese and crackers from the fridge to snack on.

Scrolling back through their messages, Arthur saw that Alfred had said he'd be picking Arthur up from his house in the morning, but that it was imperative he keep the rest of the day's activities a secret. Arthur had scoffed at that point, tempted to press for details. He ultimately gave up, knowing Alfred's persistence would’ve made it difficult for Arthur to get any information about where—or what—they’d be doing.

As the Brit waited for Alfred to pick him up, he crunched on his crackers and scrolled through his Twitter feed. Soon enough a text notification popped up telling him Alfred was here.

Arthur saw that Alfred was just as—if not _more_ —dressed up. Whereas Arthur was wearing his favourite green turtleneck sweater and (perfectly not holy) black jeans, Alfred was in his Sunday best, with slacks, a button-up shirt, and a clean pair of loafers (did Alfred even _own_ those?). Then it occurred to Arthur that yes, Alfred could have come from church, and that he hadn't had enough time to change between that and picking Arthur up. Or maybe Alfred wanted to show off.

Arthur’s brothers eagerly and very non-conspicuously crowded around the door, watching as Arthur and Alfred left.

Alfred strolled around to the passenger’s side of his truck to open the door for Arthur, waving his arm like a chauffeur. “Don’t muck anything up while I’m gone,” Arthur snapped, shaking his head at his brothers as he got in.

With a light laugh, Alfred walked to the other side and hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“So, what's up your sleeve today, hm?” Arthur asked, and Alfred chuckled.

“You’ll see soon enough!”

“And you're sure that whatever we're doing won't be washed out by the rain?” Arthur challenged, and Alfred scoffed.

“Hell naw, this plan if waterproof. Seriously, I didn't know you were such a worry wart. It doesn't really match your style to be like that,” he said.

“Eff off,” Arthur hissed, and Alfred smiled good-naturedly as he continued driving.

The rest of the car ride was mostly silent until Alfred parked in the funkiest part of town. Without knowing entirely where they were, Arthur stepped out of the car as Alfred held the door for him and followed Alfred down the street. They passed many interesting stores, including one that sold only candles and another that was very obviously a sex shop.

“Where, exactly, are we?” Arthur asked, casting strange glances at the people as they passed.

“You'll see,” Alfred chimed, and walked Arthur over to a store called _Athena’s Novels_ , holding the door open for him.

Arthur scoffed at Alfred's tactless ability to choose something that was so _obviously_ an attempt to get to his favourite hobbies. But then again, Arthur was always a sucker for buying more books, so he couldn't be that mad about it.

Alfred headed straight for the science fiction section, and Arthur meandered through the store, picking books out as he saw them and reading the synopses on the backs.

It was always difficult for Arthur to choose a book to buy when there were hundreds of options and he liked nearly all of them, but at one point Alfred returned to his side to look at the books he had already chosen. As Arthur advanced further through the store, he could see Alfred sneaking peeks and leafing through his own novels.

“I didn't know you were that big on reading,” Arthur observed, and Alfred grinned that 1,000-watt smile as he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Then you've got a lot to learn about me,” he said, and adroitly flipped open the sci-fi novel he had chosen about aliens, beginning his delve into his own fictional world.

Alfred and Arthur spent a bit longer in the store until Arthur chose to check out with the five new reads he’d chosen, most of them being fictional novels about other worlds and one musical theory book. Seeing that guitar in the corner of his room when he was cleaning this morning had got him thinking of rekindling an old passion.

“I can play guitar, too,” Alfred said with a haughty smile when Arthur explained the purchase.

As the bell to _Athena’s Novels_ jingled and the duo stepped onto the sidewalk, rain sprinkled down around them. Alfred nabbed Arthur's bag of books from his hand and replaced it with his warm palm as they walked under storefront awnings.

“So,” Alfred began as they walked down the street and rain pattered against his shirt, “How do you feel about cooking?”

Arthur smirked. “I am one of the best chefs out there, if I do say so myself,” he teased, though he was sure Alfred was only trying to strike up a conversation.

“That’s great!” Alfred said, and his eyes lit up with excitement as he led Arthur down the street to a storefront with a bay window. Through the glass, Arthur could see rows of tables lined with blenders, rolling pins, bowls, and other utensils.

_Bloody wonderful._

When Alfred led Arthur into the store that was all about cooking classes Arthur smiled a little more lightly, though he could tell that Alfred was excited and wanted him to be, too.

The chef was nice enough—in fact, Arthur was seventy-eight percent sure that the man teaching them was related to Francis, judging by his strong French accent and flamboyant personality.

“We will be baking _des tartes magnifiques_ today, so turn to page 47 of your cookbook…”

Alfred turned the page and Arthur leaned over with slight disgust at the cherry pie photo staring back at him.

So, they got started, Arthur and Alfred pouring ingredients into the stand mixer to blend it together. As Alfred measured out the flour, the high-pitched squeal of an omega girl and her alpha boyfriend made Alfred jerk so badly he almost dropped the bag on the floor.

“Alfred,” Arthur scolded, and took the bag away.

His cheeks turning pink, Alfred grabbed it back and finished measuring the flour.

The cooking went well, albeit the nearby couple was inseparable. That made sense when Arthur noticed the mating mark on the girl’s neck, but it didn’t prevent the strangers from making Alfred and Arthur's focus absolute shite, especially Alfred who was obviously making an attempt to ignore them but failing miserably.

Alfred picked at the collar of his shirt and awkwardly hustled to Arthur's other side, using him as a buffer between their rambunctious neighbors and himself, helping to stay as far away from them as possible.

In the end, they baked a fine pie. Albeit theirs was a little off from the diagram, it still tasted better than any of the other ones combined (and that, Arthur could be sure of).

And even if the pie's crust was a little black around the edges and the cherries were mushy, the ambiance of the store and gentle rain outside made it worthwhile.

“That was fun,” Arthur said as he wrapped the pie up in its tin and pulled Saran wrap tightly over their still-warm treat.

“Yeah,” Alfred nodded, but the smile he flashed wasn’t convincing enough for him.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked, and Alfred grinned, giving him two thumbs up as he said “good.” _Liar._

For the moment Arthur let it slide, packing their pie into his peacoat as Alfred shed his bomber jacket.

The rain outside had intensified into curtains, and as Arthur stepped outside Alfred lifted his bomber jacket over their heads and they hustled together back to his truck.

Alfred reached the truck first, unlocking the doors and hopping into the driver's seat. Arthur followed behind, shoving the passenger seat's door open.

“That was quite riveting,” Arthur said through puffs of breath as he sunk into Alfred's passenger seat and slammed the door closed. He placed the pie on his lap, wiping water droplets from the plastic cover.

“Thank god we didn’t stray too far from the truck,” Alfred said, smiling, as he revved up the truck and turned the fans on to blast soon-to-be-warm air at them.

Alfred turned the radio on low and (ironically) _Brown Eyed Girl_ played in the background as he looked in the rearview mirror to back up.

“Alfred?” Arthur asked, and Alfred hummed to show he was listening as he drove.

“You were a tad distracted just now when we were baking, weren’t you? Tell me what’s the matter.”

Alfred tapped his fingers against the top of the steering wheel, though his shoulders slouched forward and he frowned at the question.

“I don't really wanna say why,” he muttered.

“Oh, and you think _that’s_ going to stop me from getting it out of you?” Arthur pressed.

“Maybe,” Alfred huffed, but Arthur shook his head.

“Alfred, I’m your boyfriend. You can trust me.”

Alfred stayed silent for a moment when Arthur said that. “…I don’t want to make it awkward trying to explain it.”

Arthur cocked his head at that. “And what if it _is_ awkward? I don’t bloody care, I’d rather go through a little stupid awkwardness to hear your thoughts than be left wondering what’s bothering you.”

Alfred sighed. “I just…” he paused again, his cheeks becoming a fire engine red. “I think I _like_ like you. And I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“I’m not following,” Arthur bluffed.

“I’m talking about accidentally mating you or something—if we ever did _that_ , I-I mean—y’know, since you’ve got—stuff.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to lightly chuckle at Alfred's poor attempt to explain his discomfort.

“I take suppressants for everything, Alfred. And there’s plenty of emergency medication I keep stashed away in case I need it.”

Alfred didn’t seem convinced, though, judging by the way he glanced at Alfred. “But what if you don’t have that stuff with you when something goes wrong? Like the suppressants fail?” he asked.

Arthur scoffed. “Blimey, I don’t know, I suppose you could drive me home to get them or call for an ambulance,” he teased.

“Arthur, I’m being serious.”

Alfred wanted to be serious? Fine, Arthur would give him a dosage of the truth. “I take a healthy amount of suppressants daily to prevent my body from any hormone problems. And while they can’t quench everything the medicine at least diminishes most effects.” Arthur leaned back in his seat and pushed his arms behind his head. “I go to the doctor regularly too, if that’s any comfort,” he added, and took note of Alfred's shoulders sinking from their tight freeze.

“Okay, I feel a little better,” Alfred said.

“Good.” There really wasn’t any reason to worry since Alfred so clearly showed that he cared and didn’t want to hurt Arthur. Arthur couldn’t see anything going wrong with someone who seemed so attentive about preventing bad things from happening.

Alfred turned the radio music up and let Arthur drive in silence as their conversation faded.

* * *

 

When Alfred finally reached Arthur's house and rolled up to the driveway, Arthur sat back in his seat and looked over at Alfred.

“Would you care to come in for a while?” he asked, and Alfred readily accepted.

As thunder sounded outside, Arthur sat with Alfred at the island of their kitchen and ate slices of pecan pie together, reminiscing about their high school and middle school days, something Arthur was sure Alfred had been wanting to gossip about considering his adoration for his friends and all the experiences he and Arthur had had together.

Alfred was surprisingly fun to talk to, especially about his friends; Arthur could tell that he cared about them.

Alfred checked his watch after finishing his sugary sweet and sighed. “I guess I should head home,” he mumbled, and stood from his seat.

“It's raining pretty bad outside you know,” Arthur noted, and Alfred nodded his head.

“Yeah, but I mean—I don't wanna bother you or anything,” to which Arthur chuckled.

“You wouldn't be bothering me, though my parents are going to be coming home soon,” he said. “Maybe you could stay here for the night?” he risked, but Alfred's face immediately twisted in disgust.

“Nah, my parents would ground me for an eternity if I stayed over at your house,” he said, and Arthur shrugged his shoulders. It made sense that he not stay the night, for multiple reasons. But it was still worth asking.

As they talked and waited for Arthur's parents to come home from work, Arthur settled into his chair once more and smiled easily at Alfred's friendliness.

“Good evening, Arthur,” his parents greeted as they arrived, then with reserved smiles greeted Alfred, too.

“You haven’t gone home yet, boy?” Arthur's father asked.

“I’m just waiting to see if the rain dies down a little,” Alfred defended.

“Well, don’t stay too long, it might just get worse."

“They’re probably right,” Alfred mumbled to Arthur, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You should go home then. I wouldn’t want them to be right.”

Lighting shot through the sky in bright arrows of light, and Arthur stepped out of the threshold of the door to give Alfred a light peck on the cheek.

“Be safe,” Arthur warned, and Alfred waved him off.

“I will,” he said, and returned a kiss before running through the rain to his truck. Arthur waved from the porch as he drove home.


End file.
